


with toothpaste kisses and lines (i'll be yours)

by makeitbetter



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: M/M, it's just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:28:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21960199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makeitbetter/pseuds/makeitbetter
Summary: john is playing his part by pretending to hate it, rolling his eyes and pulling faces every time paul turns to dip the brush back into the paint pot sitting on the table.//(or: domesticity. that’s it.)
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 5
Kudos: 51





	with toothpaste kisses and lines (i'll be yours)

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't necessarily about christmas but who doesn't love pointless fluff at christmas. title is from [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XUstCA_XXyo) song.

**i. sunday**

the sky is clear for the first time in days, and elvis is on the record player as paul works.

he’s painting, covering the walls of their poky little kitchen in shades of butterscotch yellow because _it brings the sunlight in, johnny_ , and john is playing his part by pretending to hate it, rolling his eyes and pulling faces every time paul turns to dip the brush back into the paint pot sitting on the table.

(it’s all an act, of course, and they both know it - know that he secretly doesn’t mind it, that even if he did he’d put up with it because paul likes it.)

even as he perches on the counter by the open window to breathe in the atmosphere of the city below them, muttering under his breath, paul just rolls his eyes like he’s got him all figured out - and he has, john thinks. always did have.

**/**

**ii. wednesday**

the sky has clouded once more and elvis is playing again, this time to fill a silence left by absence.

john tries writing, tries perfecting a version of _come go with me_ \- even tries cleaning, because he’s nice like that and it’s only fair if he pulls his weight - but bouncing ideas off of a picture on the mantelpiece can’t compare to the real thing, and he’s soon pacing up and down the living room in front of those pictures - snapshots spanning their lives up to now, a collection of them over the years, from days spent disrupting the peace of forthlin road to paul sitting on their new doorstep - _their home_ \- with his arms full of boxes and eyes full of wonder.

(pieces of him everywhere, but not enough to put everything right.)

eventually, the afternoon finds him lulled by the gentle sound of the rain hitting the kitchen window, a mug of tea growing cold on the floor beside him until there’s footsteps out in the tiny hallway, the sofa dipping beside him and fingers threading through his hair.

john would’ve been content to feign sleep for a bit longer - might have been content to just lie there forever - if the idea off sitting up to steal a kiss or several isn’t more inviting.

“tea?” paul offers, and when he moves to the kitchen, john follows him, still half asleep, and watches over his shoulder - wraps his arms around him because it’s like all finally is right in the world.

**/**

**iii. saturday**

when the weight of the week has passed them by, and there’s less sleep in their eyes, john tries baking bread, leaving crumbs all over the counter and streaks of flour in his hair.

paul is a constant presence in the background, ironing his shirts and singing along to the radio crackling in the corner, splitting john’s attention between bread, his pretty, sweeping voice, and some new melody that’s whispering at the corners of his mind, the start of something to later translate onto guitar.

by the time the bread is in the oven, paul’s caught on to it, too.

“new song, johnny?”

“maybe.” john shrugs. “don’t know yet.”

paul makes his way over to him, grazes his thumb on his cheek as he swipes away a smudge of flour that has found its way there. “maybe we could work on it together.”

“maybe,” john says again - which really means _yes, absolutely, whatever you want_ \- and he taps the rhythm on the counter again, once, twice, three times, as paul hums along and throws out lyrics on the spot.

_i'll give you all i've got to give if you say you love me too._

he laughs then, light and carefree, and john is grinning too - grinning because the kitchen smells of fresh bread, because there’s still flour in his hair and the colour of the walls matches the colour of paul’s jumper, and because everything is as it should be.

**Author's Note:**

> lyrics are from 'can't buy me love', which is a bop.
> 
> happy chrimbo y'all :)


End file.
